


The Dream

by UltraGeek



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Character Death, Character Death In Dream, Drug Use, Friendship, Guns, Loss, Mystery, Other, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:36:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraGeek/pseuds/UltraGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik comes back to the mansion after the end in Days of Future Past, bringing with him, Mystique. But things can never be the way they were before. Or, the death of a victim who dreams of his own suicide. Based on Agatha Christie's "The dream".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GooberFeesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/gifts).



Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.

 

Midnight. Two days after Erik's return to the mansion. 

Erik Lensherr's POV:

"Erik, can I come in for a moment?"  
Charles was standing at my door, his face half obscured by the mass of curls that fell onto his shoulder. Surprised that he was still awake this late, I motioned him in.  
He collapsed on the easy chair in front of me, and it was then that I realized how exhausted he looked. There was a haunted fear in his eyes that nearly broke my heart as I remembered him from the days past. A youth, alive, vivacious, and beautiful, reduced to a sheer wreck, tormented by fear and useless pain. And I dared not think what part I had played in bringing about this catastrophe.  
He sat there, silent, and I was afraid to awake him from this stupor. I imagine that I had an absurd fear that, once roused, he would be transformed into some inhuman, raging animal, absorbing me in his madness. He was like a sorcerer whom, masked by day, revealed a darker and truer nature by night. So we sat, he absorbed by wandering thoughts; I, afraid to think, to perceive.  
At last he spoke, and the sound was so unexpected that I nearly started. "Erik," he said, and there was a peculiar tinge of hysterics in his voice, "I'm frightened."  
I moved closer to him, "what, Charles? Afraid of what?"  
"Afraid," he continued, "of myself. Of what I might do."  
Seeing the puzzled look of concern on my face, he sighed and said, in a rush of suppressed words, "I have been having these dreams, Erik. Night after night. Every time it's the same dream, Erik. And it's so real, so terribly real!"  
"In this dream, it is always a bright, cheerful afternoon. I am sitting at my desk in my study. I am waiting. There is something I must do. And, as the clock shows the time 4:28, I get up. I reach into the second drawer of my desk, and take out the revolver that's been there for a long time. I walk to the window. The sun is so strong it dazzles my eyes. I lift up the gun, and--and"  
"And what?" I prompted him.  
He smiled a grotesque smile. "And then, I shoot myself."

And two days later, Charles Francis Xavier was dead. He was found, lying near the window in his study. He held a gun in his right hand, and blood seeped out of the bullet hole on his right temple.


	2. The Funeral & How Charles Was Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is a funeral, there is bound to be pain--and memory.

On the day of the funeral. Erik's POV

The funeral. Full of unforgotten memories and unspoken words. A coarse headstone, with no eloquence to mark the passing away of a great, a remarkable man.  
The sky was mockingly clear and bright, and the chirping of the birds was a cacophony of unfeeling glee. I, Hank, and Raven stood at the newly dug grave, unable to speak, to weep, or to do anything but stare. I stared down at the dark headstone, so matter of fact, so ruthlessly smug and indifferent, and wished to God that I could crush it like metal.  
"Good God, this just can't be happening."  
My heart had repeated this sentence blindly for so many times that it was numb. Yes. I could not feel a thing. In fact, I could not believe that Charles was actually gone. He did not seem dead. He was simply not there. And a part of me hoped that this was simply some cruel farce concocted by a diseased mind. Mine perhaps. By God, I could not think.  
Mystique was standing beside me, her natural blue form masking a primitive emotion. Her passionate, shining eyes were rooted on the dirt which now hid her brother, her mentor, the man who had so changed her life, who had offered her shelter when the world had none. I could not bear to look at her, to feel the force of her animalistic being.  
A deep sob shook the ground beside me, and I turned to see Hank. His grief was apparent, crude even. Cries of anguish racked his chest, and his whole being was so strained with grief it had an eletric force. I glanced at him, and bowed down my head. "He blames me for Charles' passing. If it weren't for him, Charles wouldn't have..." But I did not have the courage to finish that thought. Why shouldn't Hank blame me? I did. The bare thought of those haunted eyes threatened to sabotage my last thread of sanity.  
"He would have been great. He would have lived to see his dreams come true, the mutant world prosperous. And now...."  
"And now he could never be the Professor."  
Once again, the scene at Charles' suicide revisited my mind. I could not forget it. And I never will.

It was around 3:50 in the afternoon, and a couple of government officials had come to see Charles. He had excused himself, in front of my eyes, and went into his study for what he called "an urgent business". He had locked the door behind him. I had went downstairs. When I came up at about 4:20, I was surprised that the two officials were still waiting. They were impatient and angry. Gathering up their things, they prepared to leave.  
"What," said I, "has Charles not seen you yet?"  
"No. Bloody hell we've been waiting for ages and not a soul has come in or come out! If this is his attitude to the government, Mr. Xavier will be in serious trouble!" They stormed out of the building.  
Strange...it wasn't like Charles to d keep his guest waiting.  
I went and knocked on the door.  
"Charles? Are you in there? Charles!"  
There was no reply.  
I opened the study door. Locks could never stop me. At first, the study seemed empty. A clean breeze of sunlight wafted into my nose.  
"Charles?"  
I walked slowly in, and then I saw it, lying near the window. A figure, prone and motionless. A figure, steeped in blood. Charles, pale and red with death.  
"No..."  
"Please..."  
I knelt down, struck dumb with terror. I don't know how long I remained in this attitude of blank horror. It seemed like an eternity.  
I touched his hands. They were cold. I looked into his eyes. They were wide and unseeing. I took him into my arms, but he did not stir. Threading my fingers through his hair, something wet and sticky stained my hand.   
“Good God!”  
Hank must have heard my cry, for the next moment he was tearing through the door, eyes wild. The next moment his strong hands were at my hands, prying my fingers open with desperate force. "Dont touch him," I tried to say, "Don't." But Hank's anguish was strong and unconquerable, and the next moment I was flung across the room, landing painfully.   
I could see Hank at it, trying to save Charles. HIs fingers, the fingers of a doctor were trembling so. "It's no use," I wanted to tell him, "he's gone." But Hank was as one crazed. He kept at it, kept at it blindly.  
Then, suddenly, he stopped. He laughed brusquely. It was a terrible and unearthly sound.  
Wiping his hands on his coat, he stared down at the blood."I can't save him," he said hysterically, "he's dead."  
A stifled gasp sounded behind me. I turned. Raven was there, a pillar of blue. I could not bear to look at her.

After the funeral, I went to Hank and told him what Charles said to me of his fateful nightmares. "There is no doubt, Hank, " I said quietly, "it was suicide."  
"No," Hank replied,  
"It was murder."


	3. When Magneto became Erik

After the funeral. Erik's POV  
"Hank, are you mad?" I asked, my mind a blank space of horror, "I understand your being upset about...this misfortune, but to suppose something this ab-"  
"Absurd?" he interrupted, eyes sparkling with an insane fury, "of course it's absurd! More absurd, than you leaving your friend to bleed to death; more absurd, than crushing him with a bloody stadium! Don't talk to me about absurdity, Magneto" I winced at the bitter venom that engrossed that word, as if it were his living enemy.  
I stared at him, my mouth dry, my heart frozen. I told, commanded myself to retaliate, to defend my actions. "It was for our mutant brothers and sisters. So that we could live, and be free."  
But the words were false, and I no longer believed in the cause that I had sacrificed so much for. I felt drained, empty, and my mind was staggering with a numb exhaustion.   
So I just stared at him, mute, like a dumb animal, as the reality of his words seared me with blinding pain. It was true, every one of those words. I'm a monster. And there is no excuse for what I've done.  
Jesus Christ. It was all so damned...Oh, damn. Damn everything.  
If there was ever a time that I, magneto, wanted to end this life....magneto, is that my real name? Is that my only name? Wasn't there some purer sound, some time, that I can't even remember? Somewhere. A mansion. Azure eyes, the color of the sky and the deepeset seas. A voice that I cannot even begin to describe.  
"Erik. Calm your mind."  
My God Charles. I have forgotten my name. "Erik". It is such a strange sound. I have lost it, Charles; my name, my self. And, by God, I can't ever find it.  
Not without you.  
But he was gone. Those eyes, that exquisite voice, as it whispered, "Erik...my friend...my friend, my brother..."  
Part of my soul. Gone. Lost. Worse than dead.   
Jesus Christ.  
"Killed...murdered...the professor." A rambling voice, full of anguish. Whose was it? Hank? Stop it, stop it now. I can't bear to listen. Leave me be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a fanfic, so please show some support. Reviews are the best :D


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